


Saffron and Spice

by onyxshinigami



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyxshinigami/pseuds/onyxshinigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things Dorian misses from home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saffron and Spice

There were some things he missed from home. The weather was one. Warm and humid, gentle breezes caressing the back of his neck and tickling the fine hair on his arms. He could walk about in little more than a thin silk tunic feeling the sun on his skin. It was a luxury he had too long taken for granted and now deeply regretted leaving behind.

He huddled under layers of leather and fabric, shoulders hunched against the sharp bite of the wind as he headed across the courtyard from the barn to his rooms in the tower. He was desperate for heat. Why the Inquisitor dragged him along to Emprise du Lyon was beyond him. Yes, he was a brilliant and astounding mage, but surely Vivienne would have been a better candidate. She certainly would have complained less.

Skyhold was cold, but Emprise du Lyon had been worse. The Hissing Wastes had been too loud, Crestwood was too wet, and the Western Approach too dry. Too many hills in the Hinterlands, too many twisting turning tunnels in The Forbidden Oasis, and there was far too much sea on the Storm Coast. Just the memory of all that roiling green water made Dorian’s stomach turn over.

Dorian politely rushed up the tower to his rooms, nodding and smiling to people he recognized as he passed them, returning their ‘welcome back’s’ with ‘thank you’s’. He sighed deeply as he leaned against the heavy wood door that opened into his room, looking forward to some time alone, some warmth, and some quiet. Dorian enjoyed a good time with good friends, but six weeks of Sera and Varric’s non-stop chatter had worn him down. He leaned back against the door, shutting it behind him with a sigh, dropping his pack unceremoniously onto the floor with a dull thud.

He remained that way for a few moments, eyes shut, head resting back against the wood, grateful to be home.

Home. What a strange thought.

Dorian left his pack by the door and stepped down the stairs that lead to his living area. He whispered a spell as he descended, magical fire blossoming in sconces around the room and in the two hearths that were on either side of his bed. The soft whoosh as the fires took life made him smile. The room would be warm soon enough.

Dorian was forever grateful to the Inquisitor for this room. She had pointed it out to him not long after their arrival in Skyhold. She had apparently taken his grousing during their initial travels together about the Fereldan cold to heart. The fact that this room had two fireplaces made her think of him, and Josephine had agreed to help him outfit it as both his private room and study. The upper level of the room was little more than an interior balcony, but Dorian made good use of the space by setting up a welcoming area for the occasional guest. The lower level was more spacious and the L shaped room allowed for a neat division of space.

Dorian shivered as he removed his well-worn travel clothing. A pitcher of water stood ready next to a wash basin. Too tired for a proper bath, Dorian heated the water with a thought and selected a bar of spiced soap. A reminder of home. He lifted the thin red bar to his nose and inhaled, the scent of cloves and cinnamon both relaxing and invigorating. It was almost gone. He’d have to look for another the next time his travels took him to Val Royeaux. That little shop that Cole had led him to was a wonderful find.

After a quick wash, Dorian rummaged through his wine cabinet for a decent red. Josephine must have restocked while he was away because there were several bottles of Nevarran merlot that had not been there when he left. He took one of the bottles over to his reading chair near a fireplace. He went back to his wardrobe, pondering this with that before selecting black lounging pants and a deep red long sleeved shirt that extended almost to his knees. It had a wide band of gold embroidery at neck, hip, and cuff. It was cotton, but remarkably high quality cotton with a ridiculously high thread count and had received Krem’s seal of approval.

Krem’s approval had come to mean a lot to Dorian over the time he spent at Skyhold. Dorian valued Krem’s perspective on Tevinter society and the two had shared many long nights in the tavern discussing, debating and downright arguing about their homeland under the watchful eye of the Bull. There were things Krem spoke about that Dorian had never considered. He listened, learned, and left with a lot to think about. There was so much about Tevinter that was good, but there was so much that needed to be changed. Dorian wanted to help shape the direction of change for the betterment of his people, but better was such a vague descriptor.

Dorian dressed, picked up a book, poured his wine, and prepared to relax for an hour or so before sleeping. He had just set arse to chair when a knock sounded above. Absolutely put upon, he groaned dramatically, heaved a sigh, and called out “If you must!” He was not getting out of this chair unless it was time to crawl in bed.

He heard the door open and the Iron Bull called down from above. “Hey, glad I caught you. You decent?”

“I’m superb and I’ll thank you to remember it,” Dorian answered. “Join me for a drink?”

The Iron Bull did not respond verbally. Instead he entered Dorian’s room, shutting the door behind him quietly. Bull descended the steps quickly, eagerly if Dorian had to describe it, with a warm smile on his oddly handsome face.

It was a face Dorian had come to love.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“I could do with a light snack,” Dorian agreed. Truth told he was rather hungry, but he disliked eating before bed. It did things to his stomach he’d rather not deal with in the morning, like heartburn or gas.

“Here, try these.” Bull held out a breadbox for Dorian to take. Dorian took the offering in both hands and inclined his head to indicate both thanks, and that Bull should sit down. Dorian placed the box on the table and poured a second glass of wine as Bull made himself comfortable. Bull took the wine Dorian offered and sat back as Dorian unhitched the clasp of the box and - .

The scent of lemon and saffron, warm and light and heady. Small breaded treats tinged orange, pink, mint, and yellow. Layered rectangles, glazed spheres, golden pyramids, and folded triangles. Some, he knew, would be sweet, others savory, and some would be bursting with spice hot enough to bring sweat to his skin. Several powdered spheres looked like the treats he used to get from the kitchens at the Alexius’ estate; the ones filled with ginger and honey that left your fingers sticky for hours if you weren’t careful. Fruits and cream in little containers decorated with sprigs of jasmine. Honeyed mustard and slices of cucumber under a domed glass lid. The colours and scents were almost overwhelming. The mingled scents filled Dorian’s chest to bursting with joy, a longing for home, a dream of things he never had.

“Oh, you beautiful man. Where did you get these?” he breathed, eyes wandering from treat to treat.

“One of the people we rescued from the Hissing Wastes? He was a pastry chef before the Venatori slavers got a hold of him. He’s working in the kitchen here, sending money home so his wife and kids can come join him.” Bull took a long drink from his glass, half emptying it. “I asked him if he could make up a few things from Tevinter you might not have had for a while. I know the spices are hard to come by.”

“How did you manage to find cardamom at this time of year?”

“What makes you think I had anything to do with that?” Bull asked with sweet innocence.

“Because you’re you,” Dorian couldn’t decide which one he wanted to try first. He hovered his fingers over one, then another, snatching his hand back each time he almost made a selection. It was a tempting idea to simple shove two or three treats into his mouth as he did when he was small, but the adult-mannered part of his brain was screaming at him to savor the things he had been missing for so long. “And if it wasn’t you directly, it was you at the heart of it.”

“Eh. Vivienne knows people.”

“Remind me to thank her soon. I should hate to appear ungrateful.” Dorian finally pinched an orange triangle from the tray. Ah, the delicious anticipation. The spice would burn his lips, sear his tongue, bring tears to his eyes, and warm him from the inside. The pain and the pleasure of it would send a shiver over his skin. “Try one of these; they’re quite lovely.”

“They’re yours.” Bull held a hand up in a silencing gesture as Dorian opened his mouth to protest. “I insist.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose to express his displeasure, but he knew Bull well enough now to not argue over something so small. This was a gift; one Bull wanted him to accept. No terms, conditions, or expectations applied.

“Very well then.” Dorian reached out and took one of Bull’s hands in his, placing the treat on Bull’s fingers. “Indulge me,” he grinned.

Bull’s devilish smirk did things to his insides. He’d been away for too long. Bull held the pastry just out of Dorian’s reach so that the mage would have to stretch his neck just so to reach it. “No biting.”

Dorian licked his lips and began to nibble on the spicy snack, lips and teeth and tongue alight with fire. He shivered in delightful agony, warmth blossoming in his belly. “Exquisite.”

“Sometimes it’s nice, isn’t it? To have a taste of home.” Bull lifted his hand and licked his fingers.

“Thank you, Bull. All things being as they are,” Dorian smiled, “I’d much rather be here with you.”


End file.
